


The Dinner Party: First Name Basis

by Blueberryshortcake



Series: The Retirement Moon Chronicles [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon typical humour, Dinner Party Epsiode, Donut entendre, Gen, Never sit between Simmons and Grif, first names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryshortcake/pseuds/Blueberryshortcake
Summary: The Retirement Moon Chronicles.This Episode: Donut throws a dinner party. It goes as expected.





	The Dinner Party: First Name Basis

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Raspberrysundae for betaing and helping me come up with Donut Entendres
> 
> Might be relationships later in the series but this one is pretty gen.

“Now men, Donut has put a lot of effort into this and I expect everyone to be on their best behavior,” Sarge said as they walked into the Red dining room. It was beautifully laid out with elegant silverware and the good dishes. Simmons privately wondered how exactly Donut had managed to keep his fine china from breaking from Blood Gulch to here. Probably better not to think about it.

 

“Oh! Heeeey guys!” Donut said brightly. He was decked out in a grey dinner jacket and light red tie. He bubbled with uncontainable excitement. “I have everyone’s place settings marked out on  the table. The neighbours should be here so~on.”

 

“Neighbours?” Grif asked. “You mean the Blues?”

 

“Aren’t they late?” Simmons asked looking at the time. “I mean, we were late, but we live here and Grif couldn’t fit his fatass into his pants--”

 

“You were the one that  **washed** them Simmons. It’s your fault they shrunk.”

 

“I keep telling you, they didn’t shrink. You grew!” 

 

“It’s okay fellas, they’re just fashionably late. Coming premature is so gauche.” 

 

“Damn it Donut!” Simmons winced. 

 

“Oh, were we supposed to dress up?” Tucker entered and scratched his head staring at the reds looking dumbfounded. He was in shorts and a t-shirt. Caboose wasn’t much better in jeans and a hoody, his helmet still on his head. Wash was wearing what he usually wore which was black pants, a grey tee and a shoulder holster holding his side arm.

 

Grif and Simmons, well used to Donut’s wine and cheese hours had dress pants and shirts in mauve and orange respectively. Grif’s shirt was a little stained but otherwise good. Sarge was in full armour, but he did have a red bow tie clipped at his neck and no helmet, Lopez sported a tie loosely hanging at his neck.

 

“The handwritten invitation said dinner party,” Grif pointed out as if it had been obvious. Tucker tilted his head and squinted at them. It was a new side of Red Team that he would have prefered not to have learned about. 

 

“This is gonna be bad,” Simmons said under his breath.

 

“As long as there’s food, I’m happy,” Grif responded. 

 

“Good-even-ing,” Freckles said.

 

“UH, can we NOT have the talking gun at the table?” Grif twitched. 

 

“But Freckless wanted to come too!” Caboose pouted.

 

“Grif is right, Caboose. No pets at the table.” Donut said gently, “He’d just beg for food.”

 

“You do realize he’s not a dog right?” Simmons asked eying Donut. 

 

“But Agent Washington has Officer Pistolwhip! And he never adds anything to the conversation,” Caboose whined.

 

All eyes turned to Wash, who glanced down at his side arm. 

 

“He isn’t…  **it** isn’t called--”

 

“HAH, I KNEW it. Blue treachery! Bringing guns to a dinner party” Sarge cocked his shotgun. 

 

Wash looked up at him very slowly. He was about to say something, but the door opened interrupting his rebuttal. 

 

“Sorry, I’m late, had to come the long way, there were a pack of dinosaurs in the way.” Carolina stepped in in what would have been a nice and appropriate teal dress if it hadn’t been slightly torn and stained with sweat from running. 

 

“IT’S JUST GREAT THAT YOU’RE ALL HERE!” Donut said a little too loudly as if to shout the terrible fashion choices and weaponry away. He cleared his throat, trying to find his zen.

 

“Why don’t we all just sit down? There’s place settings so we can mingle a bit and get to know each other better!” Donut ushered them to the table, his bubbliness back again. 

 

“Let’s put Freckles and Officer Pistolwhip in the kitchen, come on Caboose.”

 

“Awww, but Agent Wash…” Caboose reluctantly trailed behind him.

 

“Want me to drop off your shotgun, Sarge?” Wash said with an ironic eyebrow raise.

 

“Now why would I want to hand a Blue my primary firearm?”

 

“Forget it,” Wash said tiredly. 

 

“This-is-un-fair.” 

 

“Aw it’s okay Freckles, I’m sure they have treats.” 

 

“It’s for the best, we wouldn't want Freckles to shoot his load on everyone,” Donut said to the rest of them. Simmons rolled his eyes. 

 

Tucker moved to the table and groaned, “Why do I have to sit between Grif and Simmons?” 

 

“What’s wrong with that threesome?” Donut blinked innocently.   
  
“He’s worried that Grif’ll confuse him as the main course and suck him into his gullet!” Sarge guffawed.

 

“Aw, I’m sure Grif wouldn’t suck anyone!” Donut said.  

 

“Donut!” Simmons whined. 

 

“Uhh... No. It’s because they’ll be talking around me all night,” Tucker grumbled slouching into his seat.

 

“Tucker,” Wash returned giving Tucker a pointed look.  He took his seat at one end of the table across from Sarge who was at the head, his eyes shifting to Donut and back to Tucker. 

 

Tucker gave him a sour look but straightened up. 

 

Donut brightened. He sat himself between Caboose and Carolina. “Lopez was kind enough to serve the dinner since he doesn’t eat.” 

 

“ _ I did not agree to that at all.” _

 

“Yes, we would like to get started Lopez, why don’t you start tossing salad?” Donut smiled in response. Lopez gave Donut a long look and went into the kitchen grumbling something. 

 

“Sooo, while Lopez is getting the first course I was thinking that we could agree to go by our names this evening,” Donut grinned expectantly.

 

“What… like our first names?” Tucker said uncertainly. 

 

“Exactly!” Donut nodded cheerfully. “We’ll go around and everyone can say their name and a fun fact.”

 

“But we know each other’s…” Simmons trailed off eyeing the freelancers and Sarge. “Well maybe we should…”

 

“Great! Why don’t you start us off, Dick?” Donut encouraged.

 

“Pfft, dick. Bow chicka wow wow,” Tucker snorted. Simmons responded with a dirty look.

 

“Uh. I’m Dick--”

 

“Bow chika wow wow.” 

 

“Stop that!” And uh… my fun fact is …”

 

“Well?” Carolina prompted when Simmons stuttered out.

 

“UH… I don’t know… I can’t think of anything! Come back to me.” 

 

“That’s alright, Dick--”

 

“Bow chicka wow--” 

 

“--let’s go to the left,” Donut gestured.

 

“--Wow… Uh… do we really have to do this? This just seems… wrong.”

 

“Donut put a lot of thought into this,” Wash said with a cringe worthy forced enthusiasm. “It would be rude to not.” 

 

“Fine, I’m Lavernius and I’m Doctor Fuck,” It looked like he was about to wink at Carolina but thought better of it, which probably saved him a lot of pain and awkwardness in the long run.

 

“I’m Dexter,” Grif sighed, “I’m hungry.” 

 

“How is that a fun fact?” Simmons asked critically.

 

“I just want this to be over so we can eat, shut up, Sim--”

 

Donut cleared his throat.

 

“Dick,” Grif eunicated slowly. 

 

“Bow chicka--”

 

“I’m David,” Washington said loudly over Tucker. It was met by stunned silence.

 

“What?” Wash frowned at them.

 

Carolina gave a soft snort at their reactions. 

 

“David,” Tucker said slowly trying it out.

 

Caboose was confused.

 

“I thought it was Agent.” 

 

“Wait, you thought his name was actually Agent?” Grif raised his eyebrow. “So what? He and Carolina happen to have the same first name?”

 

“Carolina’s name is David?” Caboose looked between the two freelancers even more surprised now.

 

“No--you know what never mind.” Grif held up his hands. He realized if he continued a conversation with Caboose chances are he would never get fed. 

 

“So… Dave then?” Tucker asked. 

 

Wash shook his head, “My fun fact is not Dave. Never Dave.”

 

Silence fell. All eyes turned to Caboose. Caboose smiled slightly looking around at them, pleased he was here with all his friends.

 

“Uh, it’s your turn Ca--er--Michael,” Wash prompted.

 

Caboose continued to stare back at them, not reacting.

 

“Michael,” Wash said again. Still no reaction. “Michael.”

 

Caboose frowned. He turned to Donut.

 

“I think he’s talking to you,” He stage whispered. 

 

“Uh… well I guess I’ll just go. I’m Franklin and my fun fact is I love throwing dinner parties! I just swell up at the thought of them. From happiness!” 

 

Everyone looked expectantly at Carolina.

 

“No.” She said bluntly. 

 

“Wash-or-a-David,” Tucker whispered. “What IS Carolina’s name?” 

  
Carolina’s lazer eyes focused in on Wash.

 

“No comment.” 

 

“Oh come fucking on dude.” 

 

“Agent to you.” Wash said deadpan.

 

“So her name IS Agent!” Caboose crowed. Carolina shrugged, fine with this.

 

“Awww, come on Carebear, everyone is doing it,” Donut wheelded. Her eyes narrowed on him. It was like watching an unstoppable force face off against an obvious object. 

 

“Well since we’re bein’ casual today you can call me S-Dog,” Sarge said, perhaps to save his solder from a slow and bloody death for calling an ex-freelancer ‘Carebear.’

 

“S-Dog?” Wash whispered uncertainty.

 

“La cena está servida.” Lopez said with little ceremony dropping the salad on each of their plates.

 

“What’s Lopez’s first name Saaaar--S...Dog? Does he even have a first name?” Tucker asked Sarge. Tucker’s plate cracked on impact when Lopez dropped it in front of him. “You know what, dude? Nevermind.”

“Hey,  **Dick** can you pass the salt?” Grif asked sweetly.

 

“Who are you calling a dick, cockbite?” Tucker glared.

 

“Tucker--”

 

“No Wash! I know you have a weird thing about--”

 

“ **Tucker--** ”

 

“But I will not be insult--”

 

“He was talking to Simmons,” Wash hissed. 

 

Tucker paused, “Ohhh, haha Dick. Bow chika--”

 

“Okay, that’s it jerkoff!” Simmons growled grabbing a butterknife.

 

Instantly Wash had out a large combat knife in his hands.

 

“Wash!” Carolina gave him a look.

 

Wash momentarily looked ashamed. “Hey I taught him knife combat. The C.T. special. He’s actually not terrible.” 

 

Simmon’s eyes widened, stabbing Tucker forgotten, “I’m not?” He squeaked not used to getting praise. 

 

“Woah, wait! He was gonna stab me!??!” Tucker stood, igniting his sword. 

 

“I said no weapons at the table!” Donut cried.

 

Wash looked guilty again and slowly put away the combat knife. “Technically you just said guns?” 

 

“Actually, he said pets,” Sarge corrected having cocked his shot gun at the blues long ago. 

 

“If Patrick O’Stabby can be at the table I don’t see why Freckles can’t!”

 

“Shut up Caboose!” The other chorused. 

 

“Uh, you’re not gonna eat that, are you?” Grif asked Tucker having already finished his salad. He didn’t wait for the reply sliding the broken salad dish closer to him. 

 

“I can’t believe you all!!” Donut wailed.

 

“Way to ruin the party Wash,” Tucker snorted.

 

“Me?! You were the one that--” 

 

“BOYS.” Carolina yelled. They all stopped. Tucker put away his sword and sat down. Carolina held up her hand. “Do you smell smoke?” 

 

“ _ You said to roast the meat. I put the oven to 600 degrees.” _

 

“Lopez! If you didn’t know when to baste the meat why didn’t you ask me!! My roast!” Donut ran into the kitchen. 

 

“Hm,” Grif leaned forward looking past Tucker at Simmons. “Hey Simmons?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“See I knew they were going to do this.”

 

“Think we can order take-out from Chorus? How bad do you think the delivery fee would be?”

 

“Well we could ask Palomo, he’d do anything for Tucker.”

 

“Stop. Talking. Around me.”

 

“Why not Jensen?” 

 

“We can’t ask Jensen!”

 

“Stop. It.”

 

“Why not? Bitters isn’t going to do it, lazy fuck.”

 

“That’s pretty rich coming from you Grif.”

 

“Because it’s sexist, isn’t it?”

 

“Simmons, how exactly is that sexist?”

 

“Can  I please trade spaces?” 

 

“Oh I love trading spaces,” Donut came back in looking a bit calmer. “The roast is a LITTLE burnt, but it looks like the inside is still fine.” 

 

“Oh … that’s good,” Wash said once again trying to force enthusiasm. 

 

“What sort of host would I be if I didn’t stuff all my guest’s mouths with hot juicy meat?” 

“Does he do that on purpose?” Carolina whispered to Sarge.

 

“Do what on purpose?” Sarge said stoically. 

 

“Right. Is there wine?” Carolina asked. 

 

“Oh! Of course! How silly of me. I have a great red wine to pair with our dinner tonight, Grenache.” He went around the table pouring each person a glass, Wash shook his head.

 

“I’ll stick with water.” 

 

“Isn’t this Rosé?” Carolina asked.

 

“Hm?” Donut looked up at her politely still pouring wine.

 

“Seriously don’t get him started,” Grif shook his head at her. 

 

“Never mind.”

 

Meal served everyone dug in.

 

“Uh… is the gravy supposed to be this colour… and consistency?” Tucker asked.

 

“ _ You prefer synthetic motor oil? You have no taste.”  _ Lopez said. 

 

“This is REALLY good!” Caboose said. The rest of them dropped their forks. With one exception...

 

“Grif! Don’t eat it!” 

 

“That salad didn’t have enough calories to fuel me Simmons!”

 

“I would like to raise a toast to Donut--er--Franklin,” Wash said stiltedly raising his glass of water. “Who has hosted such a really… lovely… evening.” 

 

“Here here!” Sarge put in. Everyone clinked glasses. Caboose sniffed the wine. 

 

“I think the juice is off.”

 

“That’s the taste you pick up on?” Simmons asked incredulously.

 

“Thanks so much, Dave--”

 

“David, not Dave.”

 

“--I’m just glad I could touch each and every one of you!” 

 

“I … don’t… feel good.”

 

“Damn it Grif, I  **told** you.” Simmons sighed, “Come on I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

 

“Bathroom, bathroom now Simmons.”

 

“Ugh…sorry Donut.” 

 

“That’s too bad, guys! You’re going to miss dessert. I personally added the cream filling.” 

 

“OH, uh, that’s--we really can’t stay either,” Wash started.

 

“Oh we can’t?” Tucker cocked his eyebrow.

 

“UH, yeah it’s… past Caboose’s bedtime…”

 

“I don’t have a bedtime… but it is Freckles’ bedtime. And also I am sleepy.” 

 

“Uh and I promised Tucker we would…”

 

“What were we gonna do, Wash?” Tucker asked smugly. Wash glared. 

 

“We uh… were going to collect...geological samples… since we haven’t … been here… very long. And we … left them… on … the oven,” Wash stumbled.

 

Carolina was on her second glass and might be mistaken for giggling. 

 

“Ohhh you gotta get your rocks off, I understand,” Donut nodded sagely.

 

“That’s not--Carolina, stop laughing!” Wash growled. 

 

“But Wash, you were so looking forward to this dinner party,” Tucker stood up. “Talked about it all day and how we just  **had** to go. How we  **needed** to be good guests for Donut. Don’t worry. ‘I’ll’ deal with the ‘rocks’ and read Caboose a bedtime story, or whatever, and YOU can stay for dessert.” 

 

Donut made a touched sound. Wash sagged in defeat.

 

“Well  **I’m** having a great time!” S-Dog clinked glasses with Agent. “Grif might die, my nickname is catching on, and the Blues are retreating, Donut you’ve done it again!”

 

It was the first and last dinner party the Reds and Blues shared together. Or at least, that's what Wash hoped. 

 


End file.
